


A Shadow on Snow

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, M/M, NC-17 (sex, genderswapping)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed.  (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Shadow on Snow  
 **Band(s):** PATD  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon  
 **Word Count:** 17373  
 **Rating/Warnings:** NC-17 (sex, genderswapping)  
 **Summary:** Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed. (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)  
 **Notes:** Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

[ Mix](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14476.html) by [](http://sodamnquirky.livejournal.com/profile)[**sodamnquirky**](http://sodamnquirky.livejournal.com/)  
[ And a SECOND Mix, A Musical Guide to Exploring the Galaxy](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14622.html) by [](http://technolustt.livejournal.com/profile)[**technolustt**](http://technolustt.livejournal.com/)  
  
  
  
It was very cold on Gethen. That was the name of this planet in the language of its people. The Investigators of the Ekumen had simply called it "Winter". That may have been a more accurate description. The planet was in the midst of a glacial cycle, so even in the height of summer, temperatures barely reached what I would call warm.  
  
I was First Mobile, the first representative of the Ekumen of Known Worlds. That is not to say that I was the first alien to have ever visited Gethen. Not at all. I was merely the first they knew about. Nearly forty years prior to my arrival there had been a team of Investigators. They had lived unobtrusively among the peoples of the planet, blending in and observing their ways and attitudes to determine whether a Mobile expedition would be viable. Trying to see if they had mindspeech of their own without getting caught out at it. The Investigators had indeed found that Gethen would benefit from--and contribute to--membership in the Ekumen. And so I was sent.  
  
My mission was to convince the people of Gethen to join the Ekumen.  
  
The Ekumen is a coordinator of member states. It is not a government in the strictest sense of the word, for there is no king, or President, or Prime Minister. The Ekumen is more of an organizer, to assist in the trade of goods and knowledge. Without it, communication would be haphazard, and trade would be risky. At the time of my mission, the Ekumen consisted of 83 planets, with about three-thousand nations. Gethen would be the 84th if I was to succeed in my mission.  
  
Gethen is remote, even when travelling in NAFAL ships. My trip from Hain, where the Ekumen is centralized, took nearly seventeen years at a speed nearly as fast as light (i.e. NAFAL.) NAFAL travellers aren't doomed to waste away in travel, however. We timejump; so while the ship sped along its trajectory, I lay in a sort of suspended animation. For me, the trip to Gethen only took four days. I awoke when the ship began orbiting the planet; refreshed and prepared for the journey ahead.  
  
I had been on Gethen--in the country of Karhide--for nearly two years before the troubles began. There were minor boundary disputes between the two (out of only four) largest countries: Karhide and Orgoreyn. They were odd, stilted little skirmishes. It was inconclusive and frustrating for all parties, for on Gethen, nothing led to war. Nothing ever had; there had never been a war in their history. In fact, there wasn't even a word for it in their language.  
  
My sponsor, or patron, if you will, in Karhide was Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. He was the Prime Minister of Karhide, but the title did not mean what I knew it to mean in other countries. Urie was essentially the king's foremost advisor. He wasn't head of parliament, or of any governing body, really. He was a trusted advisor, but with the kings of Karhide, that was apparently a tenuous position.  
  
The kings of Karhide were all mad, and this one was no exception. Estraven had tried to advise me, but I didn't listen well enough. I went to speak to the king directly about my mission. Estraven had tried to stop me.  
  
The king's mental acuity had been the least of my problems. He was disgusted by my differences; what he could see, and what he knew, of my alien anatomy and physiology. I could pass as Gethenian, and did, for the most part. I was significantly taller, but not incredibly so, and a shade paler than average. It was my gender that disturbed him.  
  
It was the fact that I _had_ a gender. Gethenians don't. Not really. Or at least not a fixed one.  
  
Now, what I knew about Gethen when I first arrived was rather limited in scope. I knew that the planet had been colonized by humans from Terra (like myself) many thousands of years ago. Terrans had scattered colonies all over the place, so that wasn't unusual in itself. What was unusual was the nature of the people left on Gethen. The Investigators, those who had come before me, if you recall, hypothesized that the people of Gethen had actually been an experiment; that they had been genetically engineered. A biological experiment, for they were uniquely adapted to the cold. Or a sociological one, for their general lack of aggression and nationalism led to an extremely peaceful society.  
  
The individual Gethenian person was unremarkably different superficially to any other human I had ever seen. It was in the fine details where you found your differences. They were like a society of preadolescents, trapped in that androgynous beauty of not quite male, but also not quite female. For Gethenians were neither, they were sexless for most of their lives. Not only did they have no libido, no sexual drive, but they also had no parts. Their sexual organs were actually withdrawn into their bodies until they were required.  
  
Casual sex did not exist on Gethen. It was physically impossible.  
  
Gethenian physiology operated on a 26- to 28-day cycle, very much like the standard human female menstrual cycle. The first 21 or 22 days of the cycle is referred to as _somer_ , and in this stage, individuals are sexually inactive. Indeed, their sexuality is latent, literally under the surface, waiting to emerge, as in puberty. On the 22nd or 23rd day, one is said to enter _kemmer_ , which has four phases.  
  
The first phase of kemmer is strictly hormonal activation. Once the sexual organs have been awakened in this first phase, the second phase begins. The second phase, however, requires a partner. This phase is the process of establishing sexuality and potency. One partner becomes male, and the other partner becomes female. The sexual organs emerge and become functional. Individuals have no control over which gender they become, and it might be male one cycle and female the next. Furthermore, an individual may be mother to several children and father to more. It is all determined biochemically by the pair in kemmer.  
  
The third phase of kemmer is when the sex drive and sexual capacity both reach their maximum. This can last from two to five days, during which, little else is on the mind. Gethenian society, in fact, has made allowances for kemmer. Individuals are released from work, and kemmering houses, (sort of like brothels,) are open to all. If, after the third phase, conception has not been achieved, the individual returns to somer once again.  
  
As with everything, there is the occassional glitch. It is not unknown to encounter someone on Gethen who is stuck in an excessive prolongation of kemmer, a permanent hormonal imbalance toward male or female, the culminant phase of kemmer. Such a person was not only sterile, but also saddled with a mocking name: pervert. That is what I was to them. They called me Pervert, for that is what they understood. I didn't take it personally.  
  
Even so, the king found me disconcerting, and my audience was short. I found myself fairly spinning with the information that was thrown my way. Estraven had been stripped of his titles and banished for treason. The king had taken offense to Estraven's encouraging joining the Ekumen, and he had given him three days to get out of Karhide. The king's cousin, a treacherous snake if ever there was one, now had his ear. Estraven was finished. Amazingly, the king had found the whole incident no fault of mine and I escaped any sort of prosecution. I was, however, summarily dismissed.  
  
"Mr. Smith, you are given the freedom of Karhide."  
  
I found it best to try my luck in Orgoreyn.  
  
***  
  
Securing permission to cross the border into Orgoreyn hadn't been difficult at all. I had learned in my time in Karhide that everything had a procedure, and just as likely, everything required the filing of the proper paperwork. Once I had accomplished that, it took no time to pack my bags and move along. The actual border crossing consisted of little more than checking papers and being waved on by a sleepy guard.  
  
It took me three days to travel to Mishnory, the capital city of Orgoreyn. It was brighter, and neater, than Ehrenrang had been, in Karhide. But my first impression of Mishnory may have been colored by my failures in that other city.  
  
I met a Commissioner of the city straight away, and was invited to stay with him. It was an exceedingly different experience from that which I had had in Karhide. No one had ever asked if I was comfortable in Karhide, and yet they fussed over me in Orgoreyn. It was almost embarrassing. But I was warm at last, and well fed.  
  
In short order, I learned that Orgoreyn was governed by a bureaucracy of Thirty-three. There were thirty-three provinces, each with a Commensal as governor. I felt that it was with these men that I would find a successful end to my mission. It had to be easier to convince a majority of sensible men to agree to common terms than it had been to argue reason with a single madman.  
  
The Commissioner was more than happy to introduce me to the Commensals of his social circle. They were a progressive lot, and open to new ideas. They readily accepted my story, (which after Karhide, was frankly a relief,) and they wanted to know more. I could taste success on the air.  
  
But that was when I saw Estraven.  
  
Estraven had been in the company of a couple of the Commensals; those whom the Commissioner had thought sympathetic to my mission. He hadn't made himself deliberately known to me, for we both knew that he was exiled from Karhide under pain of death, and for me to announce him would have created serious political turmoil. I let him be.  
  
I was angry, though, for there he was, free from Karhide, yet still playing his political games.  
  
There was much political gaming to be had in Orgoreyn. The Thirty-three were divided into factions, and it became my job to determine which of them were on my side for the good of Gethen, which of them were on my side for their own benefit, and which of them were merely keeping up appearances. For it seemed everyone I met in Orgoreyn was supportive of my mission. I simply had to figure out who to trust. I hadn't chosen wisely in Karhide.  
  
Estraven came to me after I had been established in Mishnory for several weeks. I was annoyed and frustrated to see him at my door. He could have done so much to further my cause in Karhide, and as such, have prevented us both from having to be in Orgoreyn.  
  
"I have come to caution you, Mr. Smith," he said, stiffly formal as he ever was. "My Commensal, whom you know, is an agent of the Sarf." Estraven paused and looked at me, his dark eyes unreadable, as was his mind. The Sarf were the secret police of Orgoreyn. A very badly kept secret. I knew which of the Commensals were Sarf agents, and which weren't. They still all had political agendas.  
  
"Thank you, Estraven, for your information. It is as helpful as always." I let as much mocking enter my tone as I chose. Gethenians didn't understand sarcasm. I didn't understand why Estraven felt the need to help me. If anything, his aid had directly led to the failure of my mission in Karhide. Of course, that could have been his purpose in Orgoreyn, although I couldn't fathom the reasoning.  
  
I was arrested the next day.  
  
I found myself stripped, drugged, and thrown into the back of a caravan truck bound for the Pulefen Voluntary Farm in the remote outreaches of Orgoreyn. Prison. The journey took something like four days, but it felt like much longer. There were twenty-six of us, in total; all naked, freezing, and hungry. They gave us nothing for the entire trip but a jug of water twice a day. It didn't last long. Two men died in the back of that truck, and I feared that I was to be the third. If not for the kindness of the strangers who were my compatriots, I would have been. They sheltered me from the worst of the cold, knowing somehow that I was not adapted to it as they were.

The punishment to be found at Pulefen Farm was exhaustion, and neglect. We were roughly clothed, and fed sparingly, forced to sleep all together on long benches in one giant, brightly lit room. The work was menial, but endless. We stacked wood, we moved crates, and we did it until we couldn't any longer.

The general prisoners spent all their days in that manner. Those of us with any political dissidence were questioned every five days or so. It was horrifying. I had no memory of the interrogations when I regained consciousness. Each time, I argued that I would tell them what they wanted to know, but I was injected anyway. And the drugs disagreed with my alien physiology.

The first time I was interrogated, it took me nearly the rest of that day to gain enough strength to get up and join my work group. The second time, I was unconscious until the next morning. By the fifth time, they let me lie in the sleeping room. It was no matter to them if I died.

***

I woke warm and comfortable. I lay snugly tucked in a fur-lined sleeping bag inside a tent. Estraven lay nearby, sweating in the heat, but fast asleep atop his own bag all the same. I took a moment to gather my wits and examine my surroundings. I quite obviously was no longer at Pulefen Farm. But why I was in a tent somewhere with Estraven was really beyond me.

I must have made some sound, for Estraven woke with a start.

"You look much better, Mr. Smith," he said, almost pleasantly. I merely shook my head, as if to clear it. I couldn't grasp why Estraven had risked so much to free me from Pulefen, and told him as much. He lost his temper with me. "It was partly my fault, Mr. Smith! I didn't make it clear to you how dangerous the king's cousin was to you and your mission. I thought you would be safe if you were below the king's notice. That is why I tried to keep you from having an audience with him." Estraven paused, his anger burnt out hot and fast. "I didn't realize I would end up going down with you," he said softly. "Then, when I saw you in Mishnory, I thought you might have a chance. I thought that if you could make them understand, then through you there would also be a way out of the mess with Karhide; maybe restore open trade. But they hid you." I must have reacted somehow, because Estraven shook his head. "No, they hid you in plain sight, then they sold you to the Sarf."

The realization took my breath away.

"The Sarf!" I fairly barked.

"Yes, yes, the Sarf," Estraven said dismissively. "Your Commissioner, and my Commensals. All of them."

"I still don't get it, Estraven. I ruined your life in Karhide. You were getting along quite well here in Orgoreyn. Why would you throw it all away to break me out of prison?"

"Are you that much of a fool?" Estraven hissed at me. I was taken aback at his vehemence. "An alliance between Gethen and the Ekumen would benefit everyone! I don't care if it happens with Karhide, or if it happens with Orgoreyn, just that it happens!"

"You want the alliance..." I said stupidly.

"I want the alliance, yes," said Estraven. "I risked being exiled as a traitor for putting Gethen's good over Karhide's. Don't you see? I am the only one who has trusted you, and yet I am the only one whom you have refused to trust."

I sank down into my sleeping bag once more, exhausted, and frustrated with myself for somehow being unable, even unwilling, to do what I had been sent to do.  
  
***  
  
I was weakened from the drugs at Pulefen, and Estraven let me rest. When at last I felt ready to move, I found that we first had to discuss our plan of action. I was no longer welcome in Orgoreyn, that much was clear, but then neither was Estraven; nor was he safe in Karhide. We felt it was best to return to Karhide and take our chances. As for getting there, it wasn't going to be easy. We had three options. The easiest route, overland by road, essentially retracing my own steps, wasn't possible. Orgoreyn was crawling with Inspectors, and neither Estraven nor I had acceptable papers. Mine were gone, and Estraven's were so bedraggled that they were as good as gone. If we wanted to cross the harbor, the shortest distance to Karhide, Estraven told me we would have to wait until spring. This too, then, was impossible. We would never make it through an entire Gethen winter hiding in Orgoreyn.  
  
We had to cross the Gobrin ice sheet.  
  
It turns out that the glacier, if daunting, was actually quite safe in the winter. The ice was completely frozen, so there would be no risk of falling through half rotten crevasses and sloshing through meltwater. The weather wouldn't even be that bad. The ice was so large that it controlled it's own weather patterns, so in winter, while cold, it would be relatively stable. Most importantly, however, we would be alone. No one else would dare venture out on the ice sheet in winter. Only the most desperate men would make such a choice. We were desperate.  
  
I asked then, what would happen when we made it to Karhide. Estraven shrugged, saying, "No matter." He was surely a dead man, but he bent his head to his journal, where he calculated distances and rations and made notes in the margin.  
  
"With luck, Mr. Smith," Estraven said later, "we will reach Karhide. We must be ready."  
  
Estraven made detailed calculations and meticulous notes. He determined that the ice route into Karhide was nearly 800 miles, 600 of which was directly over the glacier. If we kept to a pace of twelve miles per day, it would take us nearly seventy days to reach our destination. We hadn't nearly that much left in the supplies that had appeared with Estraven upon my liberation from Pulefen Farm. Estraven took it upon himself to get more.  
  
Estraven dressed himself up warmly, strapped on a pair of skis, and disappeared into the wilderness, leaving me alone in the tent in the forest. I cranked up the little furnace, luxuriating in the heat, which Estraven couldn't stand for long. I was still somewhat weak, so I took the opportunity and I slept.  
  
Estraven was gone for an entire day. He came skimming back into the camp just before dark, heavily laden with supplies. I asked him where he got it all.  
  
"I stole it," he said shortly. I let it drop.  
  
All together, we ended up with a solid sixty days of rations. If we were careful, we could stretch it to seventy-eight, and that was enough. It didn't leave us a lot of leeway, but we could do it. Once Estraven double-checked his calculations and compared it to the supplies, then we were ready to pack up and move along.  
  
***  
  
We travelled through Orgoreyn's backcountry on our way up to the Gobrin ice sheet. It was pleasant enough, even though I felt less than helpful with my graceless floundering in moving the sledge along. The food supplies dropped alarmingly in this first leg, and when I mentioned it to Estraven, he merely pointed out that we were using up the coarse stuff, normal foods, and not the compact, tightly-packaged emergency rations they called hyperfood. Of course it took up more space.  
  
As we approached the glacier, we found ourselves having to negotiate an ice pass between two active volcanoes: Drumner and Dremegole. The two of them belched smoke and ash in a constant rain. Everything was gray, and it made it hard to see where we could make it up from the ground onto the actual ice. We ended up going many miles out of our way to find a place to get up with the sledge, but in the end, we were able to make an easy climb and found ourselves on top of the glacier.  
  
That night we made camp for the first time up on the ice. Estraven asked me about the starship, the big one orbiting the planetary star and waiting for word from me. I told him, depending on it's location, that it could take anywhere from eight days to two weeks for the ship to land on Gethen. The people on board would awaken when my message came, and they would be ready to complete our mission. Or snatch me from the clutches of a hostile nation, but I didn't mention that.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Estraven said stiffly. He was still trying to be so formal even after all of this that it forced a shocked grin onto my face.  
  
"Is it going to be 'Mr.' all the way across the ice?" I teased. Estraven looked somewhat taken aback.  
  
"I don't know what else to call you, Mr. Smith," he ventured, unsure.  
  
"You can call me Spencer," I told him. "That's my given name. But you don't have to, if you don't want to," I added quickly. Estraven remained uneasy.  
  
"Alright," he said, after a time. "Spencer." It sounded like he was trying it out on his tongue; seeing how it felt. I smiled at him reassuringly, and finally Estraven relaxed.  
  
"Fantastic!" I practically crowed in a strange outburst of energy. We both chuckled a little. "Estraven. Is that what you prefer? I don't know what else..."  
  
"Oh, I hadn't thought," he replied, speaking carefully. "I am no longer Estraven. I couldn't use my real name openly in Mishnory, you know. And since the king... since I am no longer Lord of Estre, I can no longer use that title."  
  
"I didn't realize Estraven was a title," I said. He shrugged. "What should I call you instead?" I wracked my brain, trying to remember his lengthy moniker.  
  
"Brothers and friends use first names," he suggested somewhat guardedly.  
  
"So I should call you..?"  
  
"Urie," he decided.  
  
"Urie," I repeated, grinning and nodding. I kept on until I saw a similar expression rise on his face. It was going to be okay. I remembered, then, the entirety of his name: Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. What is a friend on Gethen? I wondered.  
  
***  
  
I had been waking early, before Urie. My metabolism seems to be higher than that of the average Gethenian, so I tend to eat a little more. Urie had actually worked the difference into his calculations when he estimated our requirements. I felt it was the least I could do to make breakfast for the two of us. It's not like it was difficult to soak a cube of hyperfood in hot water.  
  
Urie would wake some time while the hyperfood was turning into a sort of bun. We would shut off the stove and let it cool as we ate. It would be cool to the touch by the time we got up to pack and move on.  
  
We were moving slowly east. The sledge had a meter, and for every 11- to 12-hour day, we were managing anywhere between twelve and eighteen miles. We pulled and pushed the sledge until we tired out or it was beginning to get dark. I thought we were doing pretty well, considering.  
  
Some days it frustrated me that Urie was still so careful and methodical about everything. Every evening when we stopped, he would make sure that I helped set up camp and take care of everything. Putting up the tent, staking down the sledge. It was tempting, as tired as I was, to simply lie down where I stopped. But that would have been giving up, I suppose. Sometimes I hated him for it.  
  
Inside the tent, though, where it was warm, everything was ok. We ate and drank, and then we would talk. One thing we spoke of often was my ability to use paraverbal speech. It was common in most of the worlds under the Ekumen, but it was completely unknown on Gethen. Urie told me of legends he knew, but he had never heard of someone who could actually do it.  
  
"Would you like me to teach you, Urie?" I asked him. He looked thoughtful.  
  
"It is something that can be taught?" he wondered, incredulous.  
  
"I didn't learn until I was twelve," I told him. Urie raised his eyebrows at me and I laughed. "Really! There are special teachers, Educers, who work with children until they are proficient. I'm no Educer, but we could try if you want."  
  
"I'm too old," Urie said dismissively, and I frowned at him.  
  
"Adults can learn just as easily as children," I chided. "It's not even learning, really; more like awakening part of your mind. It has a physiological basis--something your brain can just do--but it's also cultural. You have to be already using your mind in complex thought." I paused, and Urie sat there looking at me, contemplating. "There's also an element of luck involved," I said with a grin.  
  
"Luck?" Urie smirked, his expressive eyebrows arching. He was really beginning to open up with me. "Well then. Let us try."  
  
I explained that he had to clear his mind, let it be completely dark. He had no trouble doing this, for it seemed that was part of his early training as a youth of the Handdara in Estre. I bespoke him as clearly as I could, but with no result. I tried again, and it was the same. We tried for nearly half an hour, until we were both tired.  
  
I turned the light off and the stove down a little and bid Urie good night. It wouldn't do to overtax him with this too.  
  
***  
  
"I've been able to hear a little; one or two people. But no one has bespoken me."  
  
"Do you really think we have the capacity for it?" Urie asked.  
  
"Sure. Many people have learned, where there was no history of it in their civilization. That's how it was on my home planet," I told him. "You just can't do it until you hear it first. The region of your brain with the telepathic potential has to be sensitized by a clear reception."  
  
Urie looked dubious.  
  
"So that's what we've been doing?"  
  
"Yes," I answered simply. Urie heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax tensed muscles.  
  
"As Envoy from the Ekumen, is teaching natives of an unsigned planet to use paraverbal speech something you should be doing?"  
  
The question caught me off guard and I actually did a double-take and stared at him. Urie looked back at me coolly, his eyes glittered in the light from the stove, and I could just see how he fought back a smile. I kicked out at him and clipped his shin, breaking his control and allowing the smile I thought I saw to unfurl and cross his face like the shadow of a hawk flying overhead. He was _teasing!_ It was unprecedented.  
  
"I am not expected to use paraverbal speech with your people," I explained after a moment, "but I am not forbidden either."  
  
"You sound like a politician," he observed. I shrugged and let the conversation drop away. After all the time I spent on Gethen, I had nothing to offer besides promises of trade and information. I had nothing of my own. Mindspeech was the only thing I had of my civilization that I could give to Urie in return for everything he had done for me. I had no wish to seem ungrateful.  
  
***  
  
I tried sending to Urie while he slept. People often noted that if there were difficulties in awakening the ability that the unconscious could often trigger something like dream messages. It felt kind of untoward. Like I was trying to reach out to him in a manner in which he had no knowledge or control... Which was exactly what it was, in fact. It wasn't successful anyway, so I stopped. I would much rather try to bespeak Urie while he had some say in the matter. Trying to do it while he was asleep only succeeded in making me feel dirty.  
  
***  
  
I didn't bother to keep track of days; Urie did. He kept a meticulous journal, whether for his benefit, or for some other, but he could tell you any small detail of our trip. I knew that we had been travelling for several weeks since he had rescued me from Pulefen Farm, and that we were not quite halfway in either time or distance. We were on target, though, and I couldn't help but be in a good mood, even if I was trapped out on the middle of a glacier.  
  
Urie, though, was tense. He wasn't talking as he had been in the evenings. He was short, and frequently cut me off. And he steadfastly maintained his distance. I couldn't figure it out, so I finally just cornered him.  
  
"Have I offended you in some way, Urie?" I fairly snapped. Urie blanched and leaned further away in the confines of the tent, ducking his head oddly.  
  
"I'm sorry. I was afraid you would laugh at me," he said. I scowled.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"I expect kemmer in a day or so," he explained softly.  
  
I tried not to react badly. I hadn't ever really observed any of my close associates on Gethen when they were in kemmer. They tended to disappear suddenly, reappearing days later and just the same as ever. It had allowed me some denial, and I had taken it. I pretended not to see their duality, and I didn't, not really, not for all the years I had been there.  
  
"I must not touch you, even in passing," Urie continued. "So I've been trying to ignore you, avoid you as much as I could."  
  
I snorted, and Urie smiled somewhat shyly.  
  
"You can still talk to me, though, can't you?" I asked. Urie nodded.  
  
"Of course," he said, sounding relieved. "There is no harm in conversation. Besides, how am I to prepare for the coming of the Ekumen if I don't question you endlessly?"  
  
We both laughed, and I reached out to thump him companionably on the shoulder, but he swayed out of my reach. I caught myself, horrified that I had invaded his space when he had just said that he was being so careful to stay away. I looked to Urie in apology, but he simply gestured dismissively. No matter. I pressed myself further down into my sleeping bag anyway.  
  
"What are women like?" Urie asked later. I thought he had fallen asleep and was startled at his sudden speech.  
  
"I--I don't know," I sputtered. "It's hard to describe."  
  
"They are always in kemmer?" he suggested.  
  
"Not exactly. You think _I'm_ always in kemmer," I said with a smirk. " _I'm not!_ " I added defensively, when he was pointedly silent. I could hear him snickering to himself. I rolled over, pulling my sleeping bag tighter around myself and acting offended. It only made Urie laugh harder.  
  
***  
  
Moving along on top of the ice actually was not as difficult as I had anticipated. It was relatively flat, and generally smooth, but not smooth enough that I wished for skates instead of boots. When we had clear weather, Urie and I made excellent time, and there were many days where we travelled fifteen miles or more. It was almost too easy.  
  
Urie slipped on nothing. Really, the ice was in perfect condition, no holes, no cracks, no glassy spots. Urie's feet simply went out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ice with a grunt. I stopped the sledge and went around to retrieve him. Once he reassured me that he was unhurt, I gave in and laughed at him. He crossed his arms and scowled at me from where he sat.  
  
"Come on, then," I said, and reached out a hand to pull him up. Urie took it, and I heaved him to his feet. He made an offended noise, and I scoffed at him, still laughing, but I helped him brush off the worst of the snow.  
  
For the remainder of the day, I found myself with an extreme physical awareness of him. Worse, I felt as if I had fallen into the stereotype that Gethenians seemed to have assigned me: I thought about sex. Alot. I felt guilty at first, and fought it, but soon decided there was no harm in it, so I finally just let myself indulge. I thought about sex.  
  
I had quite obviously not had any sexual encounters of my own for a rather long time. It was not something that was done when one was an Envoy of the Ekumen on a diplomatic mission. But also, I just hadn't considered the people of Gethen sexually. They certainly made no secret of their sexuality, but neither did they push it on me. While I had never been taken to a kemmering house, I had also never been casually propositioned or even flirted with. I supposed that I was just too different for them. They all knew who I was, after all.  
  
I supposed sex would be _possible_ between Gethenians and other humans, when the time came. After some deliberation, however, I decided that such a pair would not be fertile. We were just too different. As such, Gethenians were destined to remain alone in the universe.  
  
When we made camp that night, Urie seemed remote. It made me wonder, but I caught him looking at me as we ate, and he seemed softer, more vulnerable somehow. I could see, finally, how Urie was a woman as well as a man. Our brief contact out on the ice had tipped him over the edge--Urie was in kemmer. And his body had decided that it was female.  
  
Urie had been the only one who had seemed to like me personally, in either Karhide or Orgoreyn, and so had demanded equal recognition and acceptance. I had been unwilling to give him trust and friendship. Frankly, it had just weirded me out. I couldn't accept his dual nature. But now, he needed assurance of my friendship, particularly because we were in exile. I let my barriers down, and I accepted Urie for who he was: my friend. I gave him his space.  
  
I never was really very good at leaving things well enough alone.  
  
I felt Urie falling asleep. I _felt_ him, a connection, real though tenuous, and I pushed it. As clearly and as loudly as I could, I tried sending to him again. I called his name.  
  
Urie sat up in a flurry of limbs and turned on the light to stare at me. His cheeks were flushed, and he was sweaty, for with the onset of kemmer he chose to remain fully clothed and to sleep inside his sleeping bag for once. His modesty left him panting in the warmth inside the tent.  
  
"I thought I was dreaming," he said, his voice ever-so-slightly different now. I shook my head, half afraid to send to him again now that he was looking at me. We stared at each other dumbly. Urie's eyes shone in the light, and he licked his lips absently. He was beautiful. I watched as he disentangled himself from his bedding and crawled across the tent. He didn't stop until he was nearly in my lap, his hands bracketing my thighs. I couldn't breathe with him this close, and I almost opened my mouth to say something when he spoke again, breathless. "Bespeak me. _Call me by my name_."  
  
And then he kissed me.  
  
I gasped, and my mind fairly screamed to him, " _Brendon!_ " I felt his smile against my lips, and I knew that he had heard me.  
  
Brendon's mouth moved against mine and after a moment of serious internal debate, I gave in and kissed him back. He hummed delightedly, slipping his tongue into my mouth and climbing into my lap outright. He wrapped his arms around my neck and sank into me with a sigh. I moved my hands up to his waist to steady him, and kissed him with the fervor of seven years of self-imposed celibacy. Here on the ice the two of us were cut off from society; we were utterly isolated, and we were lonely. Moreso, we had reached a point where we shared whatever we had worth sharing. We could share this too.  
  
Besides, it wasn't a hardship. Regular Brendon--Brendon in somer--was quite attractive in his androgyny. In kemmer, Brendon was starkly lovely. His facial features were the tiniest bit rounder, full. And his _mouth_ \--his mouth was positively voluptuous. When he pulled back for a moment--to breathe, to take stock, whatever--it was his mouth that captured my attention. His lips glistened in the dim light of the stove, and I tightened my grip and pulled him toward me again, much to his pleasure. He ground his hips into mine and we both shuddered at the sensation.  
  
Brendon's body tilted in my lap, and I took it for the suggestion it was and eased him down onto his back. He looked up at me with hooded eyes, and it struck me again: what is a friend on Gethen? What does it mean when your friend could turn into your lover with the phases of the moon? For I seemed caught in the dichotomy; Urie in somer had been my friend when I saw him as a man--even though that wasn't entirely accurate either, but here was Brendon in kemmer, a pretty girl who wanted me to fulfill her desires and was willing and ready to lie down with me. I knew he was both, but the fact that I still referred to Brendon in my head as "him" was sort of disconcerting.  
  
" _Please._ " Brendon's voice was husky and sent a thrill down my spine. I reached for the fastenings on his shirt and he lay still while I made quick work of them. I had seen Brendon undressed before--how could I not? Travelling together for an extended period of time in close quarters, there was no room for false modesty. But here, naked beneath me and clearly in kemmer, Brendon was different. I took the time to explore his body, stroked his silky skin, and teased the nipples on his small, flat breasts until they were hard and peaked and he writhed deliciously. I wanted, and couldn't resist, so I dipped down and took one between my teeth. Brendon bucked and gasped, and I laughed, my breath washing over his heated skin and raising goose bumps. "You are teasing me," he accused breathlessly. I looked up at him through the ragged fall of my hair and something in my eyes made him stop. He pushed the hair off my face, a gentle caress, and I could see something of sorrow lurking behind the lightness in his demeanor. I pushed up and kissed him again, more tenderly. I hoped that I didn't have to say aloud that I did nothing that I didn't want to do.  
  
Brendon grew impatient and stripped off my shirt with agile fingers. She--for Brendon in this state could be nothing else, and it finally struck home with me that it was true: Brendon was indeed a woman, and in fact, I had yet to see him as a man--she fumbled with the fastenings of my trousers. I twitched away from her and she pouted prettily. I merely grinned back and shifted so I could more easily undo hers. Brendon's eyes grew wide and anxious when I drew her trousers over her hips and down her legs. Female, Brendon's body didn't look so very different than it ever had--not that I had been expressly concerned with it previously--but I was curious, and she seemed content to allow my exploration.  
  
I slid my hands up the length of Brendon's legs and spread my fingers out over the pale skin of her belly. She was small enough that I could easily span her pelvis, even curl my fingers around her hips. She laughed merrily at my discovery, and it made me wonder how I compared to a Gethenian kemmerer. I was taller than the average Gethenian, and larger in stature. I shrugged inwardly and figured it didn't matter; I had other things to consider, one thing being that I was thinking far too much.  
  
Brendon was thin, even thinner now that we had been living on rations, and her bones were clear underneath her skin. I pressed a kiss to the protrusion at her hip, then nudged her thighs apart. Brendon settled back against the sleeping bag, wriggling until she forced it open and could spread it out to lie on the soft fur lining. I flashed a grin at her, but she merely tossed her hair and looked back at me smugly. I tapped her thigh with two fingers as a sort of warning before I dipped my head and spread her open with fingers and tongue.  
  
Nothing was different from anything that I had ever experienced with a woman before, but then nothing was the same. Brendon responded to my touch with an enthusiasm that I had rarely met. She buried her fingers in my hair, tugging gently, urging me on, but not offering guidance to my action--only encouragement. She whined and shook when I lapped at the hard little nub of her clitoris, pulling my hair hard enough to sting, but I continued. My fingers slipped down and teased at her opening, making her squirm. I pressed one inside, testing. Brendon was wet and took it easily, so I added another. The sound she made gave me chills.  
  
" _Spencer!_ "  
  
The mindspeech startled as much as it thrilled me. I pulled away and looked up Brendon's body to her face. Her head was thrown back, and her dark hair was tangled, and she whined in protest at the loss of my mouth. I thrust my fingers deeper into her and she pressed back against my hand.  
  
" _Is that all it took?_ " I teased her. She jerked and raised her head to glare at me. I merely smiled and took my hand away as well. I could see Brendon's face fall slightly, but I wasn't done. I raised my hand to my mouth and licked a broad stripe across my palm and up my fingers, tasting her again, mixed with the flavor of my own skin. Brendon's eyes were fixed on me, and she watched as I undid my trousers with one hand, then the slow path of the other as I reached down and spread the wetness all over my hard shaft. I saw when realization struck her, and she scrambled to sit up.  
  
We both knelt on the furry insides of my sleeping bag, and I was confused as to what she wanted until Brendon smacked my hand away. She bent down and took my length into her mouth. My hips bucked, and Brendon reached out with both hands and grasped them firmly, holding me in place. I stroked her hair gently in apology.  
  
" _It's only fair,_ " she sent, and I could hear her gentle humor in my head, even as she sucked hard and made me gasp.  
  
" _Oh, it's not about what's fair._ " I pulled her off abruptly with a little pop.  
  
"What is it about?" she asked, sprawled on the fur.  
  
"You," I said, and made my way between her thighs.  
  
Brendon wrapped her legs around my waist and reached down to help guide me into her. I stopped to rub her clit with the head of my cock, doing so until her grip on me tightened so that it was almost painful. I took the hint and continued down to her wet entrance. I played with her again, similarly, rubbing the head around and over, but not quite in. Brendon squeezed me again.  
  
"Spencer, _please_ ," she pleaded.  
  
It was too pretty to deny her. I slid in slowly, filling her up inch by inch, and only stopping when our hips were pressed together tightly. Brendon panted, still too warm inside the tent, even completely naked, and it made her chest heave. I leaned down and mouthed at first one breast, then the other. Brendon's short nails scrabbled at my back. I reached up further to kiss her mouth, and Brendon moaned into it, a low, deep sound that I could feel in my bones. Her heels dug in, urging me to move, so I did. I kept the thrusts long and deep and slow. If this was the only time that we were to be together--and I imagined that it was--then I was going to make it last, and I was going to make it good.  
  
If I exerted a little extra pressure, I thought I could feel the end of her. I knew that sometimes women liked that, the extra stimulation, so I thrust harder, knowing I bumped something deep inside, and hoping that it was something she liked. Brendon did. She thrust her hips up to meet me, picking up the pace, our bodies striking together with a resonant slap of skin on skin. It wasn't a rhythm I could keep up for long, but it seemed I didn't have to. Brendon's back arched, and she screamed her pleasure. I found myself startled into coming inside of her, her inner walls milking it out of me. It was glorious. I wanted to do it again.  
  
Apparently, that was the plan.  
  
Brendon was in kemmer for five days, and for those five days we didn't travel a mile. We didn't even leave the tent. Brendon was a voracious lover. I knew, in theory, that Gethenians in kemmer thought of little else; I saw the truth in Brendon. She was insatiable. Not to say that I couldn't bring her to orgasm--quite the opposite. I had no trouble at all; time and time again, Brendon moaned and shuddered and screamed her way to ecstatic completion. She was just ready to go again a short time later, and I soon became hard-pressed to keep up with her. Much to my chagrin, Brendon was very patient with me. And very creative.  
  
Things started to slow down a bit on the fifth day. We were both tired, and we knew that we needed all our strength to navigate the ice sheet. The sex had a slower, almost leisurely quality to it. Brendon was languorous, and content to lie boneless beside me as I dozed. I knew that if she reverted to somer within the next day or so that she had not conceived. I hated to admit that it made me a little anxious, waiting for this beautiful, lusty girl to disappear and leave my friend in her stead. She could tell that I was out of sorts, near the end.  
  
"You are a good friend, Spencer," she told me. Of course, this was somewhat difficult to digest, given that she said it as she pushed me down on the furs and proceeded to ride me; leisurely rolling her hips and stroking whatever of my skin she could reach. The prospect of throwing down the responsibility of my mission and staying on the ice to live out my days like this, with Brendon, was tantalizing. At this point my friendship was well proved; it might as well be called love. But I knew it couldn't last; it just wasn't in her nature.  
  
When I woke the next morning, Brendon had returned to somer. The girl was gone.

[continue to part 2](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14265.html)


	2. A Shadow on Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed. (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Shadow on Snow  
 **Band(s):** PATD  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon  
 **Word Count:** 17373  
 **Rating/Warnings:** NC-17 (sex, genderswapping)  
 **Summary:** Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed. (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)  
 **Notes:** Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).  
  
[ Mix](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14476.html) by [](http://sodamnquirky.livejournal.com/profile)[**sodamnquirky**](http://sodamnquirky.livejournal.com/)  
[ And a SECOND Mix, A Musical Guide to Exploring the Galaxy](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14622.html) by [](http://technolustt.livejournal.com/profile)[**technolustt**](http://technolustt.livejournal.com/)  
  
  
[part 1](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/13869.html)  
  
  
We continued on our way, light in spirit. The weather was good, and the ice was clear, so we made good time. It was bitterly cold, though, particularly after our extended stay in the warmth of the tent. Brendon had gotten us ice goggles, these slatted contraptions that helped prevent ice-blindness but did little to block the wind. I had to be especially vigilant not to expose any skin to the wind because of the danger of frostbite. I was pretty good at it, wrapping up so that only the barest slivers of my eyes showed.  
  
But my left eye froze shut one day. It was one of those bitter cold days where even breathing is difficult. Not only is it painful to draw in the frigid air, but your nostrils repeatedly freeze shut. I hated it, and was fussing about that to the exclusion of pretty much everything else. My discomfort amused Brendon, and it irritated me that he found humor in my situation. My eyes regularly watered in the wind, frozen tears sticking to my cheeks, so I was initially unconcerned. When I couldn't open my eye, though, I started to panic.  
  
Brendon rushed around the sledge and grasped me by the arms, quickly assessing the situation. He pulled off my ice goggles and took my face in his hands, leaning in to look closely at my eye. I shook uncontrollably, afraid that I had lost the use of it and not nearly rational enough to see a solution. Brendon, however, took the classical approach to thawing: apply heat. Brendon pulled me to the leeward side of the sledge and down onto the ice. He tugged at me until I half sat in his lap and then he breathed hotly on my frozen skin. Brendon's breath superficially cleared the ice, but my eye remained frozen shut. He pressed his cheek to my temple for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Then, suddenly, he cradled my cheek and licked a long stripe across the seam of my eyelids. I tried to jerk away, but Brendon held me fast and did it again, and again until I could feel the warmth seeping through. After a moment I sat blinking on the snow while Brendon stroked my cheek with his thumb. I could see; everything was going to be fine.  
  
***

Brendon had estimated that we would spend about fifty days on the Gobrin ice sheet. Six or seven weeks into our journey (I still wasn't counting,) we were halfway in time, but falling short in distance. We had a finite amount of supplies, and I grew anxious.  
  
"It will be easier, Spencer," Brendon reassured me. "The sledge is lighter every day."  
  
"That is not entirely reassuring, you know," I mumbled sullenly.  
  
"Or maybe you are getting used to the effort?" he said slyly. I nudged his thigh with my knee and he grinned at me. It was clear that between the two of us, I was the stronger physically. I was bigger, had more leverage and muscle mass. But Brendon had superior survival skills. I had asked him about it one night, and he told me about his youth with the Handdara.  
  
The Handdara were, for lack of a better word, a religious group. They operated on something of an informal system of privation and simplicity. There were communities of foretellers, which interested me, but Brendon assured me that it was nothing like mindspeech, and they weren't merely plucking the desired answer out of the questioner's mind.  
  
Brendon had been taught to starve as a child, to reinforce the principles of the Handdara. The harshness of life was, in part, why he was no longer a part of it. Knowing how useless it was to know the answer to the wrong question was another reason. Brendon had fled to the city, but he had retained his wilderness skills. And for that, I was thankful.  
  
I was particularly thankful for Brendon's childhood training when we found ourselves caught in a blizzard. The storm seemed to come out of nowhere, blowing up around us in a flurry of blinding white. We stopped in our tracks--for indeed we had no choice--and struggled to set up camp. The tent twisted and bucked in our hands, and we very nearly lost it in the wind, but somehow we managed to tack it down and fumble inside. We threw in our things as quickly as we could, but the sudden, bitter wind made my fingers thick and took my breath away. I imagined Brendon cursing me as he methodically performed our routine, and I struggled to continue. I couldn't leave Brendon to do all the work; we were in this together.  
  
We did manage to get everything settled in the tent in our usual fashion, even if I couldn't see beyond the length of my arm, and that arm was half frozen. We fell to our sleeping bags, energy spent. Brendon stripped down to his pants and lay down with a sigh. Even in a blizzard, inside the tent he was too warm.  
  
I looked at Brendon from across the tent and wondered if I had been on Gethen too long. I was becoming very much like them. There he was, striking even in somer, and I merely lay in my bag and looked. After our long days of kemmering, I thought I would respond differently to him.  
  
"--we can share?"  
  
I popped out of my reverie with a start.  
  
"What?" I squawked. Brendon had caught me looking at him, and returned my stare with his usual cool look of subtle disdain, but this time it was tinged with a hint of humor glimmering out of his dark eyes. I had learned that he generally thought I was hilarious, but that was not something that was indicated in polite society. He had been a politician for long enough that the real Brendon was buried deep inside. He--well, _she_ , in my case--emerged during kemmer. And that was something that very few people got to see. Brendon was a politician, after all. He had a reputation to maintain. Well, he _had_ a reputation to maintain. Not that he did any more.  
  
"If you are still cold, Spencer, we can share," Brendon repeated with a grin. I flopped onto my back and squirmed inwardly.  
  
"Sure," I said, and started to move my things. Brendon spread out his sleeping bag on the floor of the tent and we used mine as a blanket. It was indeed much warmer to lie together, joining our body heat. " _Thank you_ ," I sent to him after I had settled in again. Brendon grew very still. "Are you ok?" I asked aloud. He nodded jerkily.  
  
"It's just--"  
  
"What's the matter? Are you uncomfortable?" I prodded.  
  
"I'm fine. It's no matter," he tried to wave it off but I stared at him sort of incredulously until he continued. "Your voice. The voice I hear inside my head is that of my first kemmerer," he said sheepishly. "It's kind of disturbing."  
  
"Oh," I said flatly. That kind of possibly explained a lot. I wanted to sulk, but I didn't want to let him see that he had hurt me either.  
  
"He's dead. Ryan's been dead for many years," Brendon said softly. "I loved him, and he's dead, but now I hear him in my head when you bespeak me. It's--confusing."  
  
"I'm sorry," I said, softening. I felt bad for my reaction to his confession, whether there was truth to my suspicion or not. It didn't matter.  
  
I was nearly asleep, snug and warm in a nest of furs and Brendon when he spoke again.  
  
"That's not why I wanted you during kemmer," he said softly.  
  
"I know," I replied, burying my head in the furs, ashamed.  
  
"You awakened me," Brendon continued. He drew one finger along the length of my arm and I shuddered. "I felt like my body had been asleep for so long. Trapped in somer, even though I hadn't..." He paused, and I watched as he stared off into space, biting his lip harshly. "You know I can't--in somer, I can't--"  
  
I grasped his hand under the covers to still him.  
  
"I know," I said again. I hesitated to say anything more, afraid that I would offend him. So instead I hoped. I hoped that he understood that I didn't need him the way he had needed me. Even in my head it sounded heartless. Of course I did. But I could wait. I _would_ wait.  
  
In that way we rode out the blizzard. It was similar to our days kemmering in that we rarely set foot outside of the tent, but we were far less vigorously occupied. For the most part, Brendon slept. I prodded him frequently to beg him to eat, and sometimes he would, but only a little. He always pushed the rest at me and told me to eat it myself, that I needed it more. It was true, given the differences in our metabolisms, but it was hard for me to take it and leave Brendon with nothing.  
  
After three days we had to dig ourselves out before we could resume our journey. It was nice to be moving again.  
  
***  
  
We travelled steadily east for another ten days or so. I found myself once more strangely cheerful in this dismal place. Brendon kept shaking his head at me and rolling his eyes, but he smiled when he did it, so I wasn't bothered in the least.  
  
When we stopped for the night, Brendon started explaining to me the complex diplomatic game in action on Gethen. He had sent word to the king before he left Mishnory that I had been sent to Pulefen Farm. I was astonished that he would have taken such a chance. Any number of people in Orgoreyn could have intercepted the message and sold him out. That number doubled in Karhide. It was incredibly dangerous for him, and it succeeded in underscoring his sincerity in wishing for success in my mission.  
  
"With luck, we shall make it," he stated confidently.  
  
"Are you foretelling now, Brendon?" I laughed.  
  
"No. I'm just lucky," he replied with a glint in his eye. I flicked the blanket in his face and he batted me away, feigning irritation. We had gone a long way today, and I was cold even in the tent, but I knew that Brendon felt some of the lightness that I did. He even let me snuggle up a little closer in the furs, so he couldn't have actually been mad.  
  
I woke in the early morning light to find my arm slung across Brendon's waist and my cheek pressed against his shoulderblade. I smiled to myself and let my fingers skim over his back as I drew away. He was firm and lightly muscled, and I liked the way my hands looked against the color of his skin.  
  
I only let myself think like that in the few silent moments before he woke. It always left me feeling like a creepy stalker, so I didn't indulge very often. This time, though, when I looked up, Brendon was looking back at me. And he was different.  
  
Brendon had gone into kemmer again.  
  
I was shocked. I really needed to start counting the days, because Brendon hadn't let on at all. I wasn't adept in reading the subtle signals and tiny changes indicating a phase change. I realized my mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. Brendon grinned impishly at me. I didn't know what to say, and his smile faded the longer I remained quiet.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked, hitching himself up onto his elbow. His voice rolled through me, deliciously deep and sleep-rumbly and pinging off all my nerve endings. Brendon startled, looking down at himself cursorily only to react so comically that it threw me out of my stupor. "Huh."  
  
"Yeah," I sat back and scrubbed a hand through my hair. Brendon laughed and once again climbed into my lap, the very mirror of his actions several weeks before.  
  
"I think you need to tell me something, Spencer," he said teasingly, tugging gently on a wayward lock of hair.  
  
"Um," I was useless. Brendon made himself more comfortable in my lap and waited patiently, his head cocked. He was adorable. "I'm bisexual?"  
  
"There we go," Brendon sighed. He snaked his arms around my neck. "I've never had this happen before," he admitted.  
  
"Would you rather not?" I asked, trying not to sound hopeful.  
  
"Oh, no!" Brendon practically shouted. "I just wondered why my body would think this would work. But you explained it: it's for you." Brendon made a low growly sound in the back of his throat and I found myself unable to breathe. "Oh, it's for me too."  
  
Brendon kissed me hard and I surged up to meet him. I toppled us over onto the furs, landing on Brendon with a grunt. He wasted no time getting our trousers off, first mine, then his. I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted to touch him everywhere, learn this new shape just as well as the other. But this Brendon was pushier. I ended up on my back with my cock in his mouth and Brendon shouldering my legs apart.  
  
"I thought you'd never done this before!" I gasped. He flicked his eyes up to me and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks and twirling his tongue until I shuddered and he pulled back abruptly.  
  
"You _know_ I've done _this_ before, Spencer," he teased. His voice was low and thick and it made my damp, shining cock twitch against my belly. Brendon laughed before licking one last, long stripe up the shaft and diving down between my thighs to lap at my hole. I jerked, pulling his hair harshly. I could feel the puffs of his breath on my skin as he laughed. Kemmer definitely brought out Brendon's spontaneity.  
  
I tried to lie still as Brendon worked his fingers inside me, but I couldn't. It had been so long, and I twitched and writhed and nearly kicked him in the head several times. It took me several attempts to say anything that wasn't mindless babble.  
  
"Brendon, please!" I finally managed. "I've never--we have to find--we don't have anything that's--" I gasped when Brendon pulled his fingers out and looked at me, confused.  
  
"What?" He was so utterly clueless, but I was charmed. His forehead crinkled as he drew his brows together, and his mouth, that same, full, luscious, beautiful mouth I had seen on the girl, was pursed. There was an intensity, a brightness to Brendon in kemmer, and I was captivated. He shook his head impatiently, waiting for me to elaborate. I felt like a fool.  
  
"We need..." I dropped my eyes, hating having to explain the logistics of sex literally in the middle of the act. I flailed my hands around a little. "Something to ease the way." I felt my cheeks burning. "Something slick."  
  
Brendon's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and I would have laughed at him if I hadn't already felt like an idiot.  
  
"Oh! Of course!" he agreed cheerily. Then he frowned, his shoulders drooping. Again, I found myself admiring him. Brendon was gorgeous. It should have come as no surprise, considering I thought the same thing when I saw him in kemmer as female. It seemed every face he made, every face he presented to me, was engaging. It kind of disturbed me, though, how I could see an idea forming in his head with the smirk that emerged.  
  
" _What?_ " I asked, squinting at him suspiciously. Brendon raised one eyebrow and licked his lips lasciviously.  
  
"Oh, I have an idea," he leered, and sucked me down again. I gasped and shuddered, feeling the back of his throat and wanting to push further. He was so good at that. I let my hips buck, and Brendon took it. He was so pretty. I pushed up on my elbows so I could watch him better; look down my body and see my cock sliding past his lips. That, probably, was a mistake. My hips bucked up again, and Brendon eased back, his eyebrow twitching. He was just changing position, anchoring himself on his hands on either side of my hips before he leaned down and took me into his mouth again. But he didn't move. He just sat there for a moment, and then looked up at me. " _Go ahead, Spencer_ " he thought to me. It sent shivers down my spine, and my hips lifted off the fur on their own. Brendon's eyes slipped shut and he hummed around his mouthful. I made some sort of high, gurgly sound, to which Brendon replied with a snort. He could laugh at me all he wanted, with a mouth like that. All I wanted to do was fuck it. My hips surged up again and again, but it was hard work and I tired, pushing Brendon away.  
  
"Hold on," I told him as I shifted out from under him. I got to my knees, first bending down to kiss Brendon soundly, then straightening and pulling him toward me again, down as he was on all fours. Brendon sat back on his haunches as his mouth opened over me once more. This way I could touch him, stroke his face, his hair, whatever I could reach, whatever I wanted. Brendon let me fuck his mouth; deeper this way, and harder. I tangled my hands in his hair, black around my fingers, and getting shaggy. I couldn't last long this way, and Brendon knew it. My thrusts grew jerky, my breaths shallow, and Brendon took back his control. His hands suddenly on my thighs prevented me from coming down his throat, but instead I filled his mouth, and he caught it all, neatly, before spitting it out into his palm.  
  
"Back," Brendon rumbled, and I scrambled to comply, my legs rubbery and uncooperative. I sprawled out on the furs and Brendon smirked at me. He used my own come to slick himself up, his head falling back while he stroked. He was such a beautiful creature, my body ached for him to touch me. Momentarily, he did. Brendon eased his way between my spread thighs and used his come-slick hand to open me again, faster, easier, hotter, wetter, harder, faster, faster, faster. I didn't think I could stand it anymore when Brendon withdrew his fingers and filled me up with one smooth thrust. I lay shaking and gasping beneath him, my cock already trying to harden again, not caring to pace for five long days of kemmering. The look on Brendon's face was that of wonder. I had forgotten, in my orgasmic haze, that Brendon had never done this. Had never been buried balls-deep in a man. I urged him to move, and he looked almost surprised for a moment before his hips started to rock.  
  
"This is only the half of it, Brendon," I panted breathlessly. He looked into my eyes and I felt my body tingle as he effortlessly, instinctively, found my prostate and rubbed over it mercilessly. "Imagine. What it'll be like. When we _switch_." I arched up, and he slid impossibly deeper, coming inside me with little jerks and a cry that made my blood hot.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized as he slumped down, slipping out of me. "It was so fast."  
  
I drew his hand down between my legs, to where I was hard again, ready.  
  
"I told you," I said with a smile. "This was only the half of it." I rolled him off me and onto his belly on the fur. He groaned, and I slapped him on the ass. To my surprise, he lifted into the blow. So I did it again. Brendon had a fantastic ass, and it begged for my hands. Soon, he was groaning in pleasure, whining and crying out for more. I spanked him until he was red, then leaned down and licked from his balls to his hole in one long, wet stripe. His whole body shuddered, and I could see that he was hard again, hot and red as his ass, hanging thick and heavy between his thighs. I ignored it, instead sucking his balls into my mouth. Brendon keened, and when I let his balls slip out of my mouth, his cock bobbed, so hard, and straining away from his body. I only smirked into his skin. Then I stuck my tongue inside him and Brendon howled. I laughed and couldn't keep it up.  
  
"Spencer, _please!_ "  
  
"What?" I asked, leisurely drawing a finger down the taut skin between his cheeks. He squirmed.  
  
"I want to come," he gasped. "I _need_ to--"  
  
"Oh, no," I told him. "Not until I say so." That kind of surprised both of us. I was enjoying touching him, teasing him, but suddenly I had to be inside him. I scrambled to my knees. "I don't want you to come until I'm inside you. Do you hear?" I slapped his ass again and he yelped, but nodded vigorously. "Good," I said, skimming my hand down his smooth flank. "This is probably the dirtiest thing I've ever done," I mumbled, mostly to myself, because Brendon couldn't see as I reached behind myself and thrust two fingers in my own ass. I was still loose and wet, so wet that I could feel Brendon's come dripping down my thighs around my fingers as I swept them around. I palmed Brendon's cheek with my other hand--partly for balance and partly to keep him engaged. I couldn't lose him as I gathered as much of his come from inside me as I could get, and then I reached back around and stuck those same fingers into him.  
  
Brendon went still, silent. I was terrified that I had hurt him, but he soon let out a low moan, his head hanging down between his shoulders. I could see the muscles in his back tensing and releasing as he fought not to try to expel me. I moved slowly, carefully, and soon, ever so much sooner than I expected, I felt he was ready. I spit into my palm and slicked myself quickly, then did it again for good measure. Sliding into him this way was so different. It almost made me wish I had fucked Brendon up the ass when he was a girl, but honestly, it had never even occurred to me. Female Brendon was so creative in her own right that I hadn't had the time to consider anything she might not have done. But this Brendon, the male Brendon, I knew that he had never done any of this, and it sent a shiver through my whole body. I was his first, and he would never forget. I had better be fan-fucking-tastic.  
  
I continued to go slowly. Brendon trembled and gasped and began rocking with me, markedly increasing the force of my thrusts. I let him control it, to some extent, let him say how fast, how hard, how deep. He surprised me again with how quickly he increased the intensity. His hips snapped up, and he leaned back as far as he could and still be on his hands and knees, until I grasped him around the waist and pulled him up. Brendon's head lolled back onto my shoulder and he caught at my hands, drawing one down between his legs. I nipped at his ear, his jaw, while I fucked up into him and just barely, barely teased his cock with my hand. He was rock hard and silky smooth, and I let my fingers skim and slip and slide gently, lightly over him. He tossed his head and whined, pushing up for my hand and pushing back onto my cock and not knowing where he would get his release. I dipped down and rolled his balls between my fingers, tugging gently. Brendon twitched, and I thought I had overdone it, but he didn't come without me, so I decided to let him go.  
  
"Go on, Brendon," I hissed in his ear. "Go on, come. I want you to. I want to see it. I want to see it all over you. All over my hand. I want to feel it on my skin. I want to feel it from _inside_." I kept fucking into him, harder now at this angle, and circled his cock with my fingers, stroking in time with my thrusts. Brendon clutched at my arm, my thigh, whining and gasping and straining to meet me. "Come on, Brendon. I want you to come all over me. I want you to come on my chest, in my mouth, on my face, so all I can taste, all I can smell is you--" Brendon broke with a guttural cry, coming hot over my hand and onto his belly and thighs. I cried out with him, pulling him tight to me, thrusting in as deeply as I could and coming harder than I thought possible, so soon after the first time today. We shook together, falling to the furs in a heap. I pulled out gingerly, knowing he would be sore, and wincing as he hissed anyway. I gathered him into my arms, pulling the blanket over top of us, and urged him to rest.  
  
As he dozed, I looked for differences in this version of Brendon, compared to the other. He fucked harder, but that could have been familiarity, knowing that I would let him this time around. There was the same sense of urgency, of ferocious enthusiasm, boundless energy and simple joy in the act of joining together. I loved him. Whether he was male, or whether he was female, I loved him. I found that it didn't matter to me what side of Brendon emerged, that I wanted it all. I wanted all of him, whatever he had to give. I loved him. And I hoped that it was enough. With the onset of another kemmer, we would fall behind in our journey. Our rations grew low, and Brendon's prospects weren't good in either Orgoreyn or Karhide. I knew that Brendon counted on the king's good nature for his safety, once Orgoreyn was caught out lying about what they had done to me. I also knew that the king couldn't be trusted. He had sentenced Brendon to death. There was no reason he shouldn't carry it out. None other than the fact that he returned with me--his prize. I held little faith in my ability to keep Brendon safe, less in the ability of the king to change his mind.  
  
I needed to take my sleep when I could. Having survived one session of kemmering with Brendon had taught me that. We still had a long way to go.  
  
***  
  
The last leg of our journey consisted of rapidly diminishing supplies, rising temperatures and thawing ice, and politics. Brendon could think of nothing else. His distraction made navigating the glacier difficult, to say the least. We took to harnessing ourselves to the sledge for fear of falling, something we never did even in the depth of winter when the snow flew so thick we couldn't see our own hands.  
  
It was good that we did. Brendon fell. One moment he was ahead of me, pulling the sledge while I pushed, then he was simply gone. There was no sound for warning--no rushing snow, no crashing ice. Brendon just... disappeared.  
  
I jammed the brakes on the sledge and frantically staked it in before rushing forward. Brendon dangled from his tether in a wide crevasse. The ice around him was an eerie shade of white-blue, irridescent and ghostly. He looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes, but it only took me a moment to drag him to safety. I held him at arm's length, examining him, ensuring that he was unhurt before I pulled Brendon against my chest and clutched him until the shaking stopped. My hands shook as if I had been the one to plunge into nothingness. Brendon was indeed unhurt, only shaken. That I understood.  
  
We continued on our way much more cautiously.  
  
***  
  
Every night Brendon explained more about Karhide and Orgoreyn, the king and his cousin, and us. Brendon was a brilliant strategist. He called it luck, but it was so incredible that I had to wonder if he didn't have something of the foreteller in him. He had been an excellent advisor, only the king's paranoia had worked against him. That, and his cousin.  
  
The way Brendon figured, the king would have seen his chance to embarass Orgoreyn with the arrival of his message. The king's cousin, however, would advise against it, the classical Gethenian response to conflict: avoidance. But the king would have been getting tired of his ambitious cousin by this point and ignored him. Brendon had seen it happen time and again. It had happened to him, in a way.  
  
As my first point of contact, it would not have been unexpected for Karhide to inquire about my status in Orgoreyn. The Thirty-Three in Mishnory of course knew that I had been sent away to Pulefen Farm, but they couldn't admit to something that could ultimately spawn not only an international incident, but an interplanetary one. So they would present a plausible, but regrettable, scenario: I was dead. Of something perfectly reasonable, like a fever. They would lie.  
  
Karhide would counter. Hadn't their own embassy informed them that the Envoy had been sent to a voluntary farm? Luckily, Orgoreyn could readily admit that I was not being held in a voluntary farm (for the Thirty-Three must also know that I had escaped) and offer to open their doors for Karhide to take a look, if they so chose. There would be no need, of course.  
  
A few weeks later, I would appear in Karhide. Orgoreyn would be caught lying, and I would once more be a treasure to the king. I would have to send for the ship as soon as possible before the king had a chance to change his mind about my worth. Brendon and I both knew how likely that was to happen, and how quickly.  
  
The key to our success was getting me back to Karhide. And that was where I was concerned. Brendon was not welcome in Karhide. Brendon was not welcome in Karhide _under penalty of death_. But I couldn't leave him in Orgoreyn either.  
  
"I will have nothing to do with you," he finally said one night. "At first, at first." It made my insides cold in a way that had nothing to do with the climate, but I knew he was right.  
  
We were near to our goal. The edge of the glacier was in sight. We merely had to climb down onto solid ground and make our way into Karhide. This close to the ice there was very little in the way of civilization. It had been true in Orgoreyn, and it followed in Karhide. We merely scrambled down the ice and found ourselves in Karhide.  
  
Our supplies had gotten so low that we abandoned the sledge on the glacier. We were able to carry what remained in our backpacks, but it was strange to leave the sledge behind. This tangible evidence of a time limit really brought a sense of urgency to our journey. Not only did I have to find my way to Ehrenrang, but I had to find a radio tower, and I had to hide Brendon. Hiding Brendon was the hard part.  
  
In the end, we decided that it was best to have Brendon stay in Karhide's wilderness, much like the beginning. As the former Prime Minister, his face was too recognizable, even in the remotest villages in Karhide. We walked far enough into Karhide to pass the tree line, and there we set up camp. Brendon would keep the tent and as much of our rations as I could get him to keep. We argued about the stove. I was leaving him alone in the middle of nowhere. I would find a town and be safe. Brendon would need the stove to keep warm until I came back for him.  
  
Brendon was stone-faced and resolute the next morning as he pointed out the direction he thought was best. There was nothing particular in that direction that indicated to me the proximity of a town, but the same was true in any direction. Brendon knew the details of his country intimately. He had gotten us across the Gobrin ice sheet with little more than a hastily drawn map, a compass, and a mile meter. I trusted that he could get me to civilization.  
  
I watched Brendon's face as he explained how far he thought I had to go. I imagined I could see a brightness in his eyes, an intensity, that if I lingered for a few more days he wouldn't let me leave. I had decided, after the second cycle, that I deliberately would not count the days. I didn't know how long we had been travelling--oh, I could estimate, probably--and I didn't know if I waited another day or another week that Brendon would indeed go into kemmer. It wasn't time I had to waste. I really made a terrible First Mobile.  
  
Brendon clasped both my hands in his as we stood outside the tent. I was ready to go, but hesitant to leave him. I stared at my boots until Brendon threw his arms around me and squeezed. I barked out a startled laugh, and Brendon pulled back, smiling sheepishly. He pressed his lips to mine, ever so gently, and then he stepped away.  
  
"You will go," he said softly. "Do your job, Envoy."  
  
I turned away in the direction he had pointed, and I didn't look back.  
  
***  
  
I walked as fast as I dared. Too fast and I would sweat, a deadly thing in the cold. But I couldn't keep to a leisurely pace. I was anxious--frightened, really. If I failed, Brendon would die.  
  
I shouldn't have been surprised that the town was as close as it was. Brendon had an uncanny knack for spatial reasoning, and his directions had been spot on. It almost made me afraid that he wasn't far enough out and would be discovered. But Brendon knew how to take care of himself; I just needed to trust that he would.  
  
I found people in the tavern. The instant I came through the door, their hospitality overwhelmed me. I spun a tale of a wrecked caravan while they fed me and discussed where I was to stay. I inquired as unobtrusively as I could as to the whereabouts of the nearest radio tower. Every town on Gethen big enough to earn that name had a radio tower. They were understanding of my need; of course I would have to signal for help. Of course. It wasn't a problem.  
  
The tavern owner let me stay in one of the small rooms on the second floor of his establishment. It was sparse, but there was a bed, with a blanket, and those were things I hadn't seen in months. I lay down expecting to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber, but I couldn't. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Brendon. He was cold and alone in the wilderness, and here I was, warm and comfortable and on my way back to the capitol city. I wouldn't be content until I allowed my hand to slip down my body and let my mind wander back to how Brendon's hands felt on my skin, his mouth. When I came, shuddering silently under the blanket, I felt sure that I had sent my thoughts to Brendon. It was too large a distance by far for him to have actually heard me, but it felt like the connection was still there, and that I could feel his voice tickling around the edges of my mind before I fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
The next morning I was taken to the town's radio tower. I easily recalled the signal to awaken the ship, and the message was sent within a minute. The occupants of the ship, the other representatives of the Ekumen, would just now begin to awaken and steer the ship on a course to Gethen. Of course, depending on where it was in its orbit, this could take up to two weeks. I hoped it was less. Much less.  
  
I needed to get to Ehrenrang. The quickest way, it appeared, was to signal the guard. This, too, was done in short order, and by lunch of that second day since I had left Brendon, I was packed into a guard landboat and headed toward the city. The trip was to take the remainder of the day and half of the next. It was so fast, compared to how Brendon and I had inched our way out of Orgoreyn, but also excruciatingly slow. I would arrive in Ehrenrang a day before the ship could possibly arrive. I had scant opportunity to assure of their welcome.  
  
We stopped overnight in some other town of no consequence. We slept in a guard station, but I was still alone. Again I thought of Brendon as I lay in bed. It was torture, yet I couldn't bring myself to stop. I could practically hear him, imagined him watching as I touched myself and what he would say, begging me to touch him and bring him similar release. I'm sure the guards thought I was a pervert indeed, if they could hear. I didn't care.  
  
I returned to Ehrenrang very much like how I had arrived the first time: very little fanfare. It was simply the way of the people of Karhide not to make a fuss over much of anything. This time, however, I had an almost immediate audience with the king. I was anxious, knowing how much rested on the whim of a madman.  
  
I was taken to the palace, and I waited. The king emerged leisurely and took me in.  
  
"I see that Urie's message was not amiss," he said slyly. "You are indeed come again to Karhide."  
  
"I am," I agreed. "I know it is not your way, but I need to be direct with you." The king scowled at me, but waved for me to continue. I breathed a sigh of relief. He could just as easily have sent me away. I laid it all out for him. "I feel that my life has been put in danger--"  
  
"Orgoreyn," he interrupted. I didn't protest. He was the king.  
  
"Yes, Orgoreyn. I have signalled my ship." I paused while he digested that information. "It is now your decision, my lord, whether you shall ever see us again. Will you have Gethen--led by Karhide--join the Ekumen? Or am I merely to go, leaving you with an opportunity for diplomatic gain left untouched?"  
  
The king paced, muttering to himself. I caught snatches of it. "Lose face" and "forcing my hand" among them. I couldn't tell which direction he was leaning.  
  
"We shall join your Ekumen, Mr. Smith," the king said suddenly. I froze, afraid to break the spell. "Karhide shall be the first, and Orgoreyn must follow our example. As will Sith, and Perunter, and the Archipelago."  
  
"Congratulations, my lord," I said simply. "When the ship is in orbit around the planet, they will contact me via my ansible communicator. Do your scientists still retain it in the laboratory?"  
  
"Your communicator and your ship are both still in the laboratory, as you well know, Mr. Smith," the king grinned. "They are returned to you as a matter of course."  
  
All at once, my mission had succeeded. I was dismissed, and the king's attendants showed me to my quarters, where I would remain until the Ekumen ship arrived. I was able to visit the laboratory and retrieve my ansible communicator from the scientists. My ship was moved outside. I could hardly keep myself still. So much of our laboring, so much of our journey would have been rendered nonexistent if I had but retained hold of my ship. I did not think how that would also have affected my relationship with Brendon.  
  
He had been alone for three days.  
  
***  
  
The ansible chirped merrily on day five. I practically leaped on the thing.  
  
"Morning, Mr. Smith!"  
  
"Shut up, Jon!" I hissed into the communicator. "You need to get down here _now!_ "  
  
"We can touch ground in an hour," Commander Walker replied calmly. Nothing ever ruffled that guy; he made an excellent NAFAL pilot. "Are you in danger?"  
  
"Not anymore," I mumbled. I could hear the half-muffled snort on the other end.  
  
"Sitrep." I told Jon the gist of what had happened here. That I had been successful, at least.  
  
"I need to get out of here before I create an international incident. I'm not part of the treaty team anyway."  
  
"Alright," Jon said. "See you in forty-five."  
  
I practically ran to my little ship to get to the meeting place. It was a large desolate area, about 30 miles north of Ehrenrang. It was perfect. The big ship came down in a roar of steam and mud. When she settled, I walked over and waited for the entry to descend.  
  
The first out of the ship was Victoria. She was a shock. Of course she looked exactly as she did as I had last seen her, nearly three years ago. She and the remainder of the crew had been in stasis. In her eyes I could see that she did not recognize me.  
  
" _Vicky T_ ," I chided softly, and she jerked, startled.  
  
"Spencer! I hardly recognized you!" she said gleefully, flinging herself the rest of the way down the entry ramp to hurl herself into my arms. I received her with a grunt and thumped her companionably on the back. She was startlingly beautiful, as she ever was, and so much more female that I had grown accustomed to. I hardly wanted to touch her for fear that I would offend. "So. You need to get out of sight?" she suggested.  
  
"I do."  
  
"Do I even want to know what you did?" she teased.  
  
"Probably not." I grinned at her as I raced up the ramp. I needed supplies. "I'm taking vacation!" I yelled to no one in particular as I ran through the ship. I could hear the activity of the others around me. My berth on the ship was dusty, untouched. I scanned it quickly, realizing as I did so that I had been on Gethen for three years without needing anything from that little room, so I could probably continue in that fashion. I moved on to the galley.  
  
I filled a backpack with as much portable goods as I could. As I stood there, stuffing things into my pack, Ian and Jon found me.  
  
"Vacation?" Ian wondered with a smirk. "I don't think you're coming back." I ignored him.  
  
"I didn't think you were long for this service," Jon added. I looked up then. "You did a good job, Spence." I just stood there as Jon wrapped me up in a hug. We had been friends, before this mission. "Where can I take you?"  
  
***  
  
Jon landed the little ship within fifty feet of the tent. It had been five days since I had left it, but there was hardly a sign that anyone had been outside. In fact, we had missed the camp completely on our first pass over. The tent was almost completely buried in snow.  
  
I leaped from the ship when Jon opened the hatch, and I could hear him laughing at me as I floundered in the deep snow.  
  
"I hope she's worth it, Smith!" he yelled. I stopped and turned back to look at him. He didn't know. Of course he didn't. Jon's laughter went on as I moved toward the tent.  
  
The fastening was stiff and frozen and a chill ran through me so hard that I had to hunch over until it subsided. I managed eventually to get in the tent, and inside, it was cold, the stove was set to its lowest mark, and Brendon lay unmoving in his sleeping bag. I fell to the floor beside him and could see that Brendon was pale and cold and he was barely breathing. I choked back a sob as I gathered him up into my arms.  
  
I carried Brendon back to the ship, terrified. He felt like he weighed hardly anything, and he was limp. Jon gaped at me when I emerged from the tent and hopped out to help me get Brendon through the hatch. His eyes were huge as I tucked Brendon down where he couldn't fall as we flew.  
  
"Holy shit, Spencer!" Jon whispered harshly. "Who is that?"  
  
"Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven," I told him.  
  
"The Prime Minister of Karhide?" he asked. My eyes snapped up to meet his. I hadn't known that Jon knew anything at all about the diplomatic mission. He was the _pilot_. It's not like we operated on a "Need to Know" basis in the Ekumen, but Jon hadn't needed to know anything, just how to get there. It shouldn't have come as a suprise. Jon was a good listener.  
  
"The _former_ Prime Minister," I corrected. "Exiled for helping me, and Gethen, above Karhide. He has a death sentence, Jon, I have to get him out of here."  
  
"Where to?"  
  
I couldn't help it. I leaned over and hugged Jon as hard as I could. He grinned and smacked at me, but I hung on.  
  
"You're a good friend, Jon."  
  
"The best," he said flippantly, closing the hatch and preparing once more for takeoff. He flopped into his seat and looked up at me. "Well?"  
  
"I'd take him offworld with us if I thought I could get away with it," I mused, looking down at Brendon's still form. "The next best thing... is the other side."  
  
Jon started punching up maps and navigational charts that I didn't even know existed. He flicked several away quickly, narrowing it down to a few. One caught my eye, and I jabbed at it with the point of my finger.  
  
"There?" Jon sounded unsure. I nodded.  
  
"It's as close to desert island as we're going to get on this planet," I said, smiling ruefully. Jon rolled his eyes. "Besides, I hear the Archipelago is nice. It thaws for a couple months."  
  
"It's on the other side of the planet, and it's practically uninhabited. Sit down and shut up, Smith, or you'll wake up your international incident." It seemed a bit harsh, but Jon smiled as he spoke.  
  
"Let's go," I said as I buckled myself in.  
  
***  
  
Brendon slept the entire way to the Archipelago; I don't think he even moved. It frightened me, because he was so unnaturally pale and cool to the touch. But his breathing was stronger, so I latched onto that as a good sign.  
  
Jon was a laid-back flyer. The ship practically flew itself, but Jon didn't press me for conversation. I was grateful. I didn't know what I would say to him.  
  
We could see the islands of the Archipelago as we approached. Only the largest were populated, which meant that there were many available from which to choose. Jon punched up a set of maps again, and peered down at the screen to study them. They were incredibly detailed, down to the roads and buildings. I half expected to see people moving in them.  
  
Jon bounced in his seat and yelped, poking at the computer with a satisfied flourish.  
  
"Found you one! Looks abandoned, but near enough to one of the larger islands that you'll be able to get over there for supplies," he chortled, obviously pleased with himself. "But far enough that they'll probably leave you alone." He winked. I was horrified, burying my face in my hands as he snickered.  
  
"You're very clever," I deadpanned.  
  
"I know," he grinned, showing all his teeth.  
  
"You're a pig."  
  
"No, I think that's _you_." Jon waggled his eyebrows at me before glancing at Brendon. "He's a hotass, Smith."  
  
"He saved my life," I said softly.  
  
"Ah. Obligation. I get it."  
  
"It's not like that," I replied.  
  
"What's it like then?" Jon wondered. I gazed at Brendon while I tried to figure out how to explain it. Something must have crossed my face, because Jon reached over and patted my knee, squeezing gently before he straightened up in his seat. He understood. He was risking everything to fly Brendon out of Karhide; of course he understood.  
  
***  
  
The island Jon chose for us was tiny, barely more than a rock with an old abandoned house and a small barn. We left Brendon in the ship while we investigated. The house was in surprisingly good condition. It was solid, with thick walls and doors and windows that still sealed. The state of the barn didn't matter, as we didn't have animals or gear to put in there, but Jon insisted we check it out anyway. It, too, was sturdy, if a bit shabby. Gethenians built things to last.  
  
Ian had taken it upon himself to practically bankrupt the storeroom in the large ship. I was embarassed, but grateful. Not only was there a plentiful supply of food, but cookware and dishes as well. There were several changes of clothes, bedding, and an ansible.  
  
"Do you want the ship?" Jon asked me as I stared at the ansible. I shook my head. We had Brendon's skis and snowshoes. If we wanted to remain unobtrusive on Gethen, we couldn't keep the ship. "I can have Ian come get me. He's safe; I taught him everything he knows."  
  
"I bet that took a couple minutes, even," I said with a snort. Jon punched me in the arm.  
  
"Are you sure?" Jon pressed. "I don't want to leave you here with nothing."  
  
I looked around the little house. It was warming up. The fireplace worked, and there was a sizeable store of fuel in the barn. It seemed like the previous occupants had just picked up and left. Practically everything we could need remained, or had been rammed into the ship by an overzealous First Officer.  
  
"I could probably use a copy of those maps," I suggested. Jon snapped his fingers and ambled off to the ship. He came flying back in a moment later.  
  
"You need to--" he gasped.  
  
I was running out the door before the words were even out of his mouth. I leaped through the hatch, expecting to find Brendon dead, but he was stirring. I slid the rest of the way across the floor and was at his side when he opened his eyes.  
  
"Spencer," he said, the tiniest smile curving his lips. I stroked his cheek, and his eyes slipped shut again. He was still so cold. I glanced back at the hatch, and Jon's head poked through.  
  
"I'm taking him back to the house," I told him, and gathered Brendon up.  
  
***  
  
Brendon slept for eighteen hours. Jon refused to leave until we were sure he was actually going to wake up. I guess he didn't plan on leaving me on Gethen alone. I appreciated it and resented it at the same time. I had been alone on Gethen for three years. I didn't need a babysitter now.  
  
Brendon slowly came up out of his sleep. His color improved, his temperature rose, and he even began moving slightly. When he finally opened his eyes for real, I practically cried with relief.  
  
"It was like you were in stasis. Or hibernating," I told him. Brendon frowned and shook his head; he didn't understand. "I can explain later."  
  
"It was something we were taught when we were young, by the Handdara, to conserve our energy in times of emergency." Again I found myself thankful for his harsh upbringing. It had saved us both on the ice. It had saved Brendon again in this last push to survive Karhide.  
  
"Could you not do it again?"  
  
"I'll do my best," he said, glancing down at his hands twisted in the blanket. His lashes were in stark contrast to his skin. When he looked up, it was not at me, but beyond. I turned to see Jon in the doorway. I introduced them, and endured a spirited round of greetings. Jon was not a diplomat. Then again, none of us were, anymore.  
  
Jon bade me to accompany him back to the ship. Once outside I noticed that she was prepared for takeoff, and so too was Jon. He sidled up to me and insinuated his way into a hug, slapping me on the back heartily.  
  
"I hereby relieve you of your duties," said Jon with a little bow and a dip of the head.  
  
"You can't do that!" I squawked.  
  
"I just did."  
  
"But what will the Ekumen--" Jon put up his hand to stop me.  
  
"Let me take care of them," he said confidently, his eyes sparkling. I kind of didn't want to know what he was going to tell them. "Stay here. At least until the treaty has been forged and the alliance is assured."  
  
"That could take years," I put in.  
  
"You're right," Jon agreed, bobbing his head. "You have an ansible. We have an ansible. If you ever need anything, you can let us know. And then, when the diplomatic team is happy with the treaty, we can decide what to do with you."  
  
"' _We_ '?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
"Well, you might decide to die of a fever," he teased.  
  
"Heard that?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Jon laughed. "Or we may need another ambassador. You never know." His gaze strayed back to the house, and I followed it to see Brendon standing at the door, wrapped head to toe in a blanket. Jon smiled at him, and sort of half saluted before he turned back to me. "Now you have some time to decide."  
  
"Thanks, Jon."  
  
I hugged him again before he climbed into the ship. Then I joined Brendon at the door and we watched as the ship rose up smoothly and disappeared beyond the horizon.  
  
"Are you sure?" Brendon asked. His voice cracked, and his brow was creased with concern as he stared at the sky. "It's not too late. You don't have to stay here with me in exile."  
  
"I have been in exile for a long time," I said, suddenly tired. "Even if I returned to Hain when this mission was completed, everyone I knew, everything I had there would be gone."  
  
"You haven't been away so very long..."  
  
"We timejump, Brendon," I reminded him. I saw it click. "I was born almost 127 years ago."  
  
"Wow, you look good," he smirked. I kicked halfheartedly at his foot. Brendon pushed me through the door and slammed it shut behind us. "Did I mention," he began, as he let the blanket slide from his shoulders, "that I can only fall into torpor right before I go into kemmer? It's a way to put it off..."  
  
"No," I said, breathless. "I think I would have remembered that." Brendon grinned, backing me up to the wall and pressing himself up against me, rolling his hips so I could feel his erection trapped between us.  
  
"The side benefit is that I can stay under for days and need practically nothing," he said with his mouth pressed to the soft spot under my jaw. "But then when I wake up, kemmer is almost instantaneous."  
  
"I see that," I said agreeably. Brendon laughed and pushed me again, toward the tiny bedroom.  
  
"You are mine now, Mr. Smith," he teased, his voice low, and his hands insistent.  
  
"Oh, was that the plan all along?"  
  
"Well, it is now."


End file.
